


almost every night

by navyhurricane



Series: dnf songfics [1]
Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Flirting, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 00:07:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29990880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/navyhurricane/pseuds/navyhurricane
Summary: Clay didn't know what he was in for when he went for smokes that morning, but discovering that the pretty brunette behind the counter has a blush like clean air and a tongue that burns sharper than his lighter, he definitely wasn't disappointed.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Karl Jacobs/Sapnap, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: dnf songfics [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2210970
Comments: 18
Kudos: 150





	almost every night

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this was actually inspired by the song Freaks by Surf Curse, simply because i liked the aesthetic of the song:)
> 
> also, as this is my first fic in this community, i want to say this is NOT about the cc's themselves, but the online personas that they've created. if this was to make them uncomfortable or if they have a change in boundaries, then i will remove this fic.
> 
> regardless, don't repost my work and enjoy<3

It wasn't supposed to be a different day. Clay had gotten up at the same time, rolled over and mashed at his phone screen until his alarm stopped. The house was quiet, and he was sure Nick was still snoring away in the room beside his. Patches was laying at the end of his bed, soaking up the mid-morning light that snuck through his windows. 

Clay had sighed, pulled himself up and out of bed. He didn't really have a plan; it was Saturday, and there wasn't much he had to do. Laundry was clean, even if it was sitting in his basket untouched, and he knows Nick took care of the dishes last night. For some reason, his bestfriend _cleans_ when he's high but Clay isn't one to judge. The blond stood, grabbed the nearest black hoodie he could find - it was the smiley face one, hooked on the back of his desk chair - and pulling on a pair of dark jeans before meandering down the hallway. He heard his cat jump down and follow him, obviously expecting to be fed. 

So, that's what he did. One glance into the cracked door of his roommates room told him that yes, he was still passed out. There was a lump beside his friend, but the purple sneakers by the front door told him that it was just Karl. Clay yawned, and grabbed the jug of apple juice from the fridge. He fed his cat, recapped the juice, and reached into the pocket of his jean jacket for his pack of cigarettes. 

Just as his fingers closed around them, he groaned. A distinct memory from last night reminded him of lighting the last one out his bedroom window, having tucked the little stick behind his ear carelessly and putting the empty pack in his jacket so he wouldn't forget to get a new one. Of course. 

It was a typical day, or that's what he told himself as he slung his jacket on over his hoodie and adjusted the hood. He shoved his feet into dirty white sneakers, the ones be bought after endless heckling from Nick, and made sure he had his wallet. 

The air was much cleaner than his intentions. 

They didn't live in a small town; it wasn't homey like those little ones you see in movies, but it was just close enough that you could maybe recognize that lady down the street by her jacket and not feel like a tool buying drugs from her neighbor. Wilbur is a nice dude, though, and is pretty reliable when it comes down to it. Clay shivered as the sun dipped away, and tugged the hood closer around his neck. The little convenience store down the street from them wasn't officially 24/7, but they never locked the doors and there was always someone behind the counter. They also sold really good taquitos, which are the best things within walking distance when Wilbur's weed hits just right. 

It was normal, and that's why Clay didn't expect anything when he pushed the door open. The bell above his head chimed, the scent of dust and something cold greeted him, and he looked up-

Clay blinked, and a soft brown pair of eyes blinked back. This was new. 

It wasn't often there was a new worker here. Most of the employees are regulars, and while Clay may not know them by name he knows that they're chill and not... corporately. This guy though, with fluffy brown hair and blue crewneck sweater, he might just be the one to disrupt it. 

"Good morning." The words are dropped - he's British? - and the employee drops his gaze back to the counter, where there's a book sat and open. 

Clay feels his jaw relax. He hadn't realized he was clenching it. "Morning." 

The door fully shuts behind him, and Clay realizes he's just standing in the door. There's nobody else in the store, and the only company he has is the sound of the fan behind the counter. Clay swallows, the taste of apple juice sticking to his tongue greedily. He sighs, and the itch under his skin reminds him what he's here for. He walks towards the counter. The boy glances up, and Clay realizes that the spattering of freckles over his nose is prettier close up. 

"Pack of Marlboro Red's, please."

The boy doesn't move right away, and Clay gets the pleasure of eyeing sharp collarbones under a white collared shirt. The side of the brunette's mouth twitches. 

"Are you gonna rob me if I ask for an ID?"

Clay can't stop the snort that escapes him, something stupid in theory but he reaches for his wallet anyways. "If you wanted to know my name that badly you could have just asked."

A flush settles on the tops of the boys cheeks as he turns away from the counter, reaching up into a little cabinet that probably should be locked. Just like the store, nothing here has a key. The boy retrieves a red and white box and Clay pulls out a twenty. The box is set right beside the book, and Clay offers the cash. He doesn't bother pulling out his drivers license.

He probably shouldn't, but just as the employee grabs it, he holds on a second longer. They make eye contact, and Clay feels electric. "I'm Clay. Y'know, for the next time I come here."

The boy hums and runs the cash through the register. For someone Clay hasn't seen before, he seems oddly comfortable with the machine. The fan buzzes somewhere on the floor behind him, and it does nothing to cool the rush in Clay's chest when a shy smile is directed his way. "Clay, huh? Can't say I've known anyone by that name before."

Clay leans on the counter, watching the others body language carefully. He knows when to push, and he knows when his pushing gets to be a little much. To his pleasure and surprise, the cute brunette only throws out his receipt without asking and sits back on the stool. His elbows rest on the counter, on both sides of his book, but the letters and ink are ignored. Clay feels like he should be blessed by the attention, and grins as those chocolate eyes land on him. 

"Well, I'd love to say I know you, but I'm sure I wouldn't forget a name like yours. Remind me?"

A soft huff. That flush is still there. "George. My name's George."

Clay hums. "George." He likes how it sounds on his tongue. "You new to town?"

George shoots him a dry look. "Can you tell? I moved here about a week ago, for my last year. I've got connections through a guy named Wilbur."

"You're a senior?"

"Unfortunately. Not the best time to move, but what can you do?"

Clay pockets his cigarettes, pushing down on his itch and nerves just to talk a little longer. "Well, if you're new then at least you don't have to be alone. Sorry, but you don't get your coming-of-age-I'm-alone-at-the-lunch tables movie moment." Clay grins wryly and drums his fingers on the counter, finding the way the sound echoes pleasant. "You can sit with little ol' me and have some good company."

George licks his bottom lip and leans a little harder on the counter. His fingers brush the sides of Clay's denim jacket. It's exhilarating, and Clay doesn't even know his last name. 

"What makes you think I want to sit with you?"

"My charm and good looks, naturally." George snorts, and the bell chimes behind Clay. "Seriously though, I'll find you on Monday. Have fun working."

He raps his knuckles on the counter once more, and pulls away. George seems to sway in place, blinking, but the look is quickly replaced by an exasperated eye-roll and small grin. 

"Bye, Clay."

"See you around, Georgie."

The door shuts just as George registers the slip, and Clay grins unabashedly as he pulls the cigarettes from his pocket.

The air is cleaner than his intentions, but even with the smoke in his lungs, he feels healthier and happier than he has in a while. 

\---

Monday comes slower than it ever has. Nick teases him that it's the first one he's ever wanted to happen, so of course it's taking its sweet time. Clay had smacked him with a bill envelope and told him to piss off. 

Now though, while driving to work in the shitbox truck him and his bestfriend share, Clay couldn't be more excited. Nick is humming along to the radio, thumbs rapidly tapping his screen as he texts someone. Probably Karl, but Clay never says a word about it. It's kind of sweet, and he's happy that his bestfriend has something to appreciate. 

He's wearing a different hoodie today, something green and faded, but kept the same jean jacket. If it was because it's something George might recognize or if it was because he wants to feel the whisper of the brunette's fingers on it again, then the universe can mind its own business. It's a good jacket, and he thinks he looks good in it. His jeans are black and ripped, and he's wearing those white shoes again because he knows it drives Nick up the wall with how dirty they are. 

The window is cracked; they're just airing out the various smells of the morning. Clay's fingers smell like tobacco, and Nick carries the sweet scent of marijuana on his white hoodie. 

They pull into the parking lot, something dusty and already occupied with varying vehicles. Some of it's daddy's money and some of it's decent savings. There's even a few that are just projects, barely running but full of pride when it even turns over. Clay puts the truck into park and hops out, grabbing his bag from the back and tossing the keys to Nick. He catches them, and sticks them in the leather jacket he refuses to let go of. They head into the school, and get to the main hallway. 

"Meet back at lunch?" Nick tosses the words over his shoulder and Clay grins. 

"Obviously. Maybe I'll bring a friend."

The pointed look Clay receives is swept away as Nick heads to his locker, and Clay does the same. He barely pays attention, but there's some whispers about a new student and where he could be from. Something swells in Clay's chest, but he can't tell what it is. He's always had a possessive streak, and something about knowing the new student _first_ improves his day by tons. 

He's just getting to his locker when a small cough beside him makes him jerk. A slow grin spreads over his face as he slides his bag in. 

"Well, good morning, Georgie. Fancy seeing you here."

The boy looks even better today, not shoved behind a counter and under the sickly lights of the convenience store. He's short, definitely shorter than Clay, and is leaning against the locker beside the blonds'. He's wearing a grey hoodie with a little red square on the front, dark ripped jeans and sneakers. He looks good, staring up at Clay with what is definitely annoyance. There's a bookbag hanging off his shoulder and Clay wonders if that book he was reading at work is in there.

"'Georgie'? Really?"

"What, you don't like it?" Clay grabs a binder for his morning classes and closes his locker with a bang. No lock, no key. "Y'know, sitting behind that counter must be like sitting in a highchair, because-"

"Don't you dare."

Clay's wheeze draws some attention, but it's no different than the smoke that seems to linger around him. He discovers that him and George share a few classes, and what they don't, Nick shares with him. Clay babbles a bit before class about various topics, and he rolls in the curious and dare he say, _jealous_ stares of the students around them, the ones that were so interested in George this morning. It feels good, and he glances every so often to make sure George isn't looking for an escape route he can't find. 

To Clay's relief, George seems involved in his conversation and his attention is fixed on Clay. 

Good.

They're halfway through third period English when Clay elbows George, "Hey, Nick wants to eat lunch with you. Can I kidnap you?"

George side eyes him and nudges him back. His elbow hits Clay's ribs but he's got plenty of fabric cushion. "I don't think you're supposed to ask permission before you kidnap someone, idiot."

"What can I say, I'm polite."

George offers a small grin. "The perfect gentleman. Alright, feel free to snatch me away. It's not like I had plans anyways, since you already ruined my indie movie moment."

The teacher shushes them and threatens to split them apart. George pulls his new kid card, and Clay's chest feels warm as that elbow lands back in his ribcage. 

\---

"Nick, this is George. George, this is the guy who sleeps and smokes like it's his living."

"Dude!" Nick reaches across the hood of the truck to slap Clay's shoulder, but Clay just dances away over the dirt parking lot. The cigarette between his fingers glows as he breathes it in and exhales on a laugh as Nick chases him. They didn't leave the school lot, but they're parked far enough away that they won't get yelled at for smoking. Clay huffs; like half the teaching staff _doesn't_ have a nic addiction either. 

George laughs from his seat in the truck. The passenger side doors are open, and he's sat in the front. Karl is sat in the back, but leans forward on the bench seat to talk to George. Clay can't hear what they're talking about but there's a grin on George's face that tells him it isn't bad. Nick chases him for a bit more and then lunges, trapping Clay in a mock headlock. Clay keeps the lit cig carefully away from his friends' hair and clothes. 

"I thought we were getting lunch?" Karl calls from the truck. He's migrated to the front somehow, sitting teasingly in the drivers seat. Nick perks up, and jogs back towards the vehicle. Karl slides over partially into George's space and Nick leans in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek before climbing all the way in and starting the truck.

As Clay approaches, he sees the kiss. He also sees the way George blinks, stops for a second. The blond climbs in the backseat, leaning against the door and forgoing a seatbelt. He watches the side of George's face as Nick kisses his partner again. 

George's face doesn't change, but something in his posture seems to relax and his eyes soften. 

Oh. _Oh._

Nick turns into a small parking lot, the one that belongs to a little family owned diner. It's normally busy at lunch, but it's run by the nicest people who serve the best fries. Clay tells George so as they get out, and Karl and Nick drop hands just as they get to the door. There's a few familiar vehicles from the school parking lot here. 

The interior is decorated in red booths and various other retro vibe decorations. Clay was right in his observations and spies a few people from school in further booths. Karl picks a booth and slides into it, and Nick plops down next to him. George gets in the other side, and pats the cushion almost teasingly at Clay. He just grins, and falls into place. 

The chatter is easy; they learn a few things about George and his circumstances. He's living with his parents close to the convenience store, and - no pun intended - the job was just convenient for his time and place. They order milkshakes and fries, and Nick shoots his straw wrapping at Clay's face. George's shoulder bumps into Clay's when he laughs, and Clay's leg bounces under the table. 

They all have a free period after lunch, so there's no rush for getting back or out. The group that Clay was eyeing when they came in walks by. Karl and Nick's shoulders jerk apart, and Karl instantly busies his hands with the fries basket on the table. There's no comments thrown, but Clay makes eye contact with one of the guys - Nate, a nasty fellow - and narrows his gaze as it slides over to George. 

And George, just George, who's flicking sugar packets at Nick and ignoring the malicious gaze thrown his way. Well, we can't have that, can we?

Clay isn't one to fight. He's not a 'bad boy' or a rebel, but he's over six foot and works out regularly. The only reason he's not on the football team is because he doesn't get along with pricks like Nate, but Nate knows his place. So, when Clay leans his arm around the back of their booth, looking for all the world relaxed and chill until he throws an icy glare over his shoulder at the jock. Nate jerks, and sneers as he heads out the door of the diner without another look their way. 

Satisfied, Clay tunes back into the conversation. George is talking about his cat and Karl whines about seeing it. Nick is looking at Clay, smirking with a look that screams _you aren't slick._

Whatever, as long as George is left alone. 

\---

Lunch leaves the four of them lethargic and not wanting to go back to school. George looks skeptical at first, since it is his first day, but Karl assures him he's on good terms with all the teachers and can easily get him caught up. George looks to Clay, and it only takes an encouraging smile before he's agreeing. 

They head back to Clay and Nick's place, windows open and smoke curling as they cruise. Nick and Karl are in the back, giggling about something on Karl's phone. George is humming to the radio, just like Nick was doing this morning, and Clay taps the end of his cigarette out the window. George is wearing his jean jacket; they left the diner and the wind blew, and the denim was off Clay's back before his brain really caught up. George hadn't hesitated, just taken it with a shy smile and that pretty flush. 

Clay thinks he looks really good in his clothes. 

Patches greets them when they get to the door, curling around Clay's feet as he kicks off his sneakers. There's apple juice sitting on the counter where he left it this morning, and Nick left his bong beside the kitchen sink again. There's numerous things pinned to the fridge, including little magnets that spell out DICC in pink letters. Karl makes a beeline to the couch and lands on it, his hair bouncing at the impact. George is more reserved, crouching down to pet Patches and grinning that little smile of his. 

Clay shuts the fridge. "Do you work today, Georgie?"

George hums, "Yeah, at four. Why, you gonna walk me?"

He can't help the chuckle, knowing he'd been caught in the act. "Perhaps, don't tell me you don't like my company."

Nick squawks something as Karl pulls him down onto the couch, and Clay leans against the counter. He really is decently taller than George, and it's shown in the way his jacket nearly swallows him. George doesn't seem to notice, just laughs as Patches gets onto the counter and rolls his sleeves up to offer more attention. He looks really, really good in Clay's clothes. 

"Alright, you can walk me to work."

"Perfect." The television turns on in the living room, and Clay motions to George to follow. Karl is surfing Netflix for a movie, laying on the couch and using Nick as a body pillow. Nick's head is pillowed against the arm of the couch and his hands are looped around Karl's back, and he looks halfway asleep already. Karl settles on a brainless movie just as Clay and George sit on the loveseat, and silence falls for the first time that day. 

Clay yawns. 

He glances at his phone: it's just after two. 

A nap wouldn't hurt, right? He quickly sets an alarm for three-thirty, and a quick glance at George tells him he's watching whatever Karl put on. Clay is pretty sure Karl is already asleep on Nick's chest, but George doesn't seem bothered. Clay smiles to himself, and leans his elbow on the armrest so he can put his head in his hand. The chatter of the show in the background and George breathing besid him is enough to soothe him quickly down, and Clay lets it drag him under. 

He doesn't dream, but can almost taste cigarette smoke on his tongue and something else, like an old book or dust. It's nice, and Clay urges towards it. 

His alarm seems to go off as soon as he closes his eyes. 

Groaning, he lifts a hand to rub his eyes and adjust to his surroundings again. They haven't changed; Karl is still asleep on Nick, the show is still playing, and George is under his arm-

George.

Oh, that's where the smoke is coming from. 

George is tucked against his side, one of Clay's arms wrapped over his shoulders and his knees pulled up. That book is sitting on his lap, and George's head is down and reading it. Clay watches his fingers trace the page and ink, and fights the urge to squeeze him tighter. His groan must have alerted George, though, and Clay turns off his alarm and meets his dark gaze with sleepy eyes. 

George smiles, looking completely comfortable pressed against Clay. His jacket smells faintly of cigarettes. "Good morning."

Clay huffs, and swallows the words he wants to say. "Morning."

They untuck from each other, but it doesn't feel awkward or unnatural. George puts his book away and Clay drapes a blanket over Karl and Nick. They giggle and shush each other as they move to the kitchen, and George silently rages about Clay's bad apple juice drinking habits. He doesn't take the jacket off, and Clay doesn't ask for it back as they put their shoes on. George tucks his hands in his pockets as Clay shuts the door, and looks over his shoulder at the sound of his laughter. 

"I guess you'll be wanting these back, hm?"

Clay takes the pack of cigarettes, and cheekily reaches into George's other pocket for his lighter. Pretty boy, pretty flush.

They walk in tandem, not really speaking but not silent. Clay blows the smoke away from George into the clean air, and George complains about working until eleven tonight. George teases about breaking into Clay's house to cuddle with Patches, and Clay makes a mental reminder to find a spare key. For once, Clay dreads the sight of the convenience store and wishes that it was just a little farther away. 

They get inside and find it empty, and the nice blonde behind the counter greets George before she dips away. Clay thinks her name is Niki. George just walks around the counter with a friendly smile to her, and plops his stuff down before grabbing a red and white pack. George leans his elbows on the counter overtop of the cigarettes. He grins at Clay, and Clay takes the bait. 

"Pack of Marlboro Red's, please."

He leans on the counter, not bothering to reach for his wallet. George grins and toys with the sleeves of Clay's hoodie. His fingers brush against his wrist, and Clay thrills inside. 

"Are you gonna rob me if I ask for an ID?"

Clay only grins, something free and unhinged. He reaches up and adjusts the collar of his jacket on George, and makes sure to trail his fingers over his jaw. George's eyes flutter. "You already know my name, pretty boy, how about you ask for something new?"

That pretty mouth grins back. "Pick me up at eleven?"

"I'll make sure I kidnap you even better this time." Clay replaces the pack with a twenty, and smudges his fingers over George's face one last time. It's worth it to feel that flush, tactile and gorgeous. "See you later, Georgie."

"Bye, Clay."

As he lights up the last of his pack walking home, Clay grins at the sky. The air is clean, but even the smoke he breathes into it can't ruin the mood he's got himself into. He just has to last until eleven, and he can make it even better.

Clay can't wait. 

**Author's Note:**

> leave your thoughts in the comments below, i would love to expand this into more than just a random oneshot and really make it a fic! 
> 
> find me on twitter at [navyhh4](https://mobile.twitter.com/navyhh4) !!
> 
> as always, yell at me below and stay safe<3


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